


Something Stupid

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M, Martin and the students, angry!Martin, apologetic!Douglas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, in order to fix a mistake, you need more than an apology.  Sometimes you need more than a big romantic gesture.  Sometimes, you just need to do something stupid... even when you're Douglas Richardson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Stupid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Douglas playing the piano for Martin](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=3984850#cmt3984850) prompt on the meme.
> 
> The song Douglas is playing is "Something Stupid" as made famous by Frank and Nancy Sinatra. Here's [a link to the song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0f48fpoSEPU) and [a link to the piano version](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYSFQe-UoXc) I imagined Douglas playing.

Logan glanced up when he heard the front door close. His brother, Lucas, stood just inside in the door with his backpack hanging off one shoulder. He seemed to be thinking, sometimes a challenging endeavour for Lucas, so Logan decided to save his greeting for later and turned his attention back to his book.

A few minutes passed and Lucas didn’t move. He didn’t put his backpack down or kick off his shoes in the middle of the entryway--something he did out of habit or specifically to irritate Isabelle, Logan wasn’t sure--nor did he sit down on the couch or make a move to his room or the bathroom. He simply stood at the door with his brow wrinkled in thought.

“Lucas, is everything all right?” Lily asked from the kitchen.

“Fine, Lils, everything’s fine,” Lucas answered.

“Then why do you look like someone just asked you to choose your favorite Muppet movie?” Logan teased.

“How could anyone ever make that decision?” Lucas asked, throwing his arms into the air. “They all excel at different aspects; for some it’s storytelling or acting and for others it’s cinematography, or technical achievement, or musical performance. It’s impossible to compare them when you consider the different times in which they were made and the different puppeteers who worked on them!”

“Lucas, it was a joke,” Logan sighed. “I am _not_ stupid enough to have that argument with you... again. But still, what’s up? Did something happen on your way back?”

Lucas nodded. “There’s a bloke at the end of the block pushing a piano down our street.”

“What?”

“There’s a bloke,” Lucas repeated, gesturing to himself, “at the end of the block pushing a piano down our street.”

Lucas hunched over in order to mime pushing a piano with his shoulder. Logan rolled his eyes. He shut his textbook, placing it on the coffee table on top of his notes, and went over to his brother at the front door. Pushing Lucas aside, Logan opened the front door and took a few steps out onto the porch. He glanced up and then down the street, unable to stop himself from laughing when he saw exactly what Lucas had described.

“Well, what do you know,” Logan chuckled. “Hey, Lil,” he called into the house, “you should come and see this.”

Lily was by his side a few moments later, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Lucas stepped up behind her, giving Logan an ‘I told you so’ look; Logan couldn’t do anything but nod in agreement.

“What are we- oh,” said Lily, as Logan pointed out the man pushing the piano. He was easy to see as he was passing in front of the house next door. “Why is Douglas pushing a piano down our street?”

“Who?” questioned both twins.

It was Lily’s turn to point at the strange sight approaching Parkside Terrace. “That’s Douglas Richardson,” Lily explained. “He works with Martin at MJN Air. He’s the other pilot.”

“You know him?” Logan asked.

“Martin introduced us once, a few months ago when his van wouldn’t start. Douglas came to pick him up.”

The three of them watched Douglas labor under the weight of the piano. He looked exhausted, as if he’d already been pushing it for some distance. He paused for a moment just on the other side of the walk leading up to their porch. Douglas pushed at the rolled up sleeves of his shirt which were threatening to fall below his elbows. He wiped an arm over his brow and let out a tired breath as he looked at the piano. After readying himself for another bout of exertion, Douglas put a hand on either side of the piano and put his weight behind it to start it moving again.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Lily asked.

“I have no idea,” replied Logan.

“You should ask him, Lils,” Lucas suggested, giving Lily a little poke in her side.

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you know him.”

“I don’t _know_ him,” Lily argued. “Martin just introduced us.”

“Come on, Lils,” Lucas wheedled. “Don’t you want to know why he’s pushing that piano?”

“Don’t you want to know what he plans to do with it?” Logan added.

“Ask him,” said Lucas.

“Please, Lily?” Logan pleaded.

“Ask him.”

“Please?”

“Ask him.”

“Please?

“Ask him.”

“Please?”

“All right!” Lily shouted. She put a hand over each of the twins’ mouths to shut them up, Lucas getting the added bonus of a mouthful of terry cloth. “I’ll ask him. Just stop doing that, please.”

The twins nodded and Lily pulled her hands away from their mouths. She walked over to the edge of the porch and looked out towards the street. Douglas had come to a stop in front of Parkside Terrace. He’d pushed the piano up onto the sidewalk and situated himself in the small block of grass in front of their porch. He was leaning on one arm against the dark, cherrywood upright and trying to catch his breath.

“Douglas?” Lily called tentatively.

Douglas straightened and turned towards the porch, looking mildly surprised to see the three students standing there.

“Oh, hello, Lily,” he said, still sounding a little out of breath. “You look even lovelier than when I saw you last. How are you this evening?”

“I’m fine,” she said quietly. Lily glanced down at the railing, trying to hide the light pink blush that Douglas’ compliment caused to bloom over her cheeks. “Douglas, we were wondering... what you are doing here with a piano?”

“Something stupid,” Douglas answered. “Is Martin here?”

Lily nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“Would you be kind enough to get him for me?”

“Sure. It’ll just take a minute.”

“Thank you very much.”

Lily and the twins went back into the house, leaving Douglas out front with his piano. Martin just so happened to be standing in the kitchen. He was holding a cup of tea in his hands and looking thoughtfully at the plate of biscuits Lily had put out on the kitchen table. He smiled as she approached him.

“Martin,” Lucas called loudly from the door. “That Douglas chap is outside with a piano and he wants to see you.”

The smile on Martin’s face was immediately replaced by the scowl that, until last week, the students hadn’t even known he was capable of. His grip tightened around his cup and the tea inside jostled as Martin began to tremble with what Logan was pretty sure was anger. Lily, who was standing closest to Martin, took a step back to the other side of the table.

“Lucas, shut the door,” Martin ordered.

Lucas didn’t hesitate to obey Martin’s command and slammed the front door shut. Martin forcefully put down his cup of tea, causing some of the liquid to splash onto his hand. He wiped it on his trousers and marched over to Logan at the end of the couch.

“All of you,” Martin said, going around the room and pointing at each of the students, “listen to me. I don’t care what the hell Douglas says or does, none of you are to talk to him or interact with him; that includes Tommy and Isabelle. Do not talk to him. Do not go out to see him. Do not let him into this house. Do not offer him anything to eat or drink. Do not help him if it starts to rain or if Mrs. Whitmore’s dog gets loose again. Do not acknowledge his existence. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Martin,” all three students answered.

“Good. Thank you.” 

Martin returned to the kitchen table and picked up his cup of tea. He held the cup up to his lips and took in a long, slow breath. Martin took a sip of tea and the tension in his body seemed to slip away. He took another long breath to calm himself and looked up at Lily.

“Lily, would you mind if I had a few biscuits?” Martin asked. His tone lacked any of the brimming rage it’d been laced with just a few moments earlier.

“No, not, not at all. It’s, it’s fine,” Lily stammered. “Help yourself, Martin.”

“Thank you, Lily,” Martin said, smiling again.

Martin put a few biscuits onto a little plate and carried them, along with his cup of tea, back up to the attic. The students looked around at each other, all three of them frozen in shock. Lucas moved first; he kicked off his shoes and took a seat on the couch. He dug the remote out from between the cushions and turned the telly on.

“What are you doing?” Logan asked.

“I’m doing exactly what Martin told us to do: I’m not acknowledging that man’s existence.” Lucas’ eyes were fixed to the screen even though Douglas and the piano could be seen through the window next to the front door. “Ever since he came back from Belize last week, Martin’s been having those little fits of anger and I am _not_ going to be the one he smashes when he finally snaps and Hulks out.”

Logan and Lily exchanged a glance. This was one of those moments when, despite it all, Lucas was absolutely right. Logan took a seat next to his brother on the couch. Lily busied herself in the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea for herself and then for each of the twins, just to have something else to do.

They heard Douglas come onto the porch and knock on the front door but they diligently ignored him. Douglas appeared in the window, tapping on it a few times in an attempt to get the twins’ attention. Lucas, who’d found a replay of a rugby match, peppered Logan with an endless stream of questions about the teams, their strategies, and even their uniforms so that there was never a free moment for either of them to look out the window. Douglas went back to the front door and knocked on it a few more times. Eventually, they heard his footsteps leaving the porch.

Then they heard the piano.

A melody could be heard leaking in around the closed door and window. Lily’s curiosity drew her out of the kitchen but it wasn’t enough to make her openly defy Martin’s wishes. She took a seat next to Lucas at the very end of the couch and stole little glances out the window at Douglas in between pretending to watch the rugby match.

“It’s pretty,” she said quietly.

The twins offered her noncommittal murmurs and nods. 

Douglas continued to play while Lily, Lucas, and Logan continued to pretend that there wasn’t a man playing the piano out in front of their house. Confused chatter came down the stairs with Isabelle and Tommy as they descended from the second floor. Isabelle crossed straight to the window while Tommy stood at the end of the coffee table, curiously surveying his three housemates on the couch.

“Don’t you guys hear the piano?” Tommy asked.

“Hear it,” Logan confirmed.

“Ignoring it,” Lucas informed him.

“Why are you ignoring it?” Isabelle asked. “It’s beautiful.”

Before Lily or the twins could do anything, Isabelle unlatched the window and slid it open, letting the sounds of the piano move through the house almost as easily as if the instrument was being played in their own living room.

“Isa, no!” Lily cried, jumping up to close the window.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Logan hissed.

“Do you want to get us all killed?” Lucas asked.

Isabelle grabbed Lily by the shoulders, baffled by her friend’s struggle to get past her to close the window.

“What on Earth are you three going on about?” she questioned. Isabelle put herself squarely between Lily and the window. She held Lily tightly by her arms and gave her a little shake. “Lil?” she asked. “What’s going on? Who is that outside? Why are you all acting like that piano is going to bring about your deaths?”

“That’s Douglas, he works with Martin,” Lily explained. “We don’t know why he’s here or why he has a piano but Martin told us that we’re not allowed to interact with him in any way.”

“We’re not even supposed to acknowledge his existence,” Lucas added.

“And that applies to _all_ of us,” said Logan.

“He was really, really adamant about it,” Lily stressed.

“And when Lily says ‘adamant,’ she means ‘bloody fucking pissed off,’” Lucas clarified.

The room grew quiet, except for the melody wafting in through the window, as understanding fell over Tommy and Isabelle. Isabelle released Lily and took a seat on the corner of the coffee table. Lily returned to her seat next to Lucas; he put his arm around her and muttered something about ‘reckless Isabelle.’ Isabelle shifted her eyes from their subtle glance out the window to glare at Lucas. Tommy sat gingerly on the armrest next to Logan.

“Does this have something to do with what happened in Belize?” Tommy asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Logan shrugged, “but I’m not going to be the one who finds out.”

Tommy nodded in agreement.

Outside, the melody was coming to an end. The last chord hung in the early evening air until it was drowned out by the sound of the rugby announcer and the cars passing by in the street. After a few beats of silence, the melody started again, this time accompanied by Douglas’ surprisingly rich baritone. The students couldn’t help but look out the window as the music and lyrics rose over the sports commentary.

“It’s Robbie Williams,” Lucas thought out loud.

“It’s Frank Sinatra, you uncultured swine,” Isabelle snapped at him.

“Actually, Isa, Lucas’ right too,” Tommy corrected. “Robbie Williams did a version with Nicole Kidman.”

“Yeah, you uncultured swine,” Lucas smirked at Isabelle.

Isabelle’s glare at Lucas sharpened. She opened her mouth to retaliate but she was cut off by the next line to come through the window.

_And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you"_

Eyes widened and the students looked around at each other as if they actually expected one of their housemates to be able to explain what was going on. Tommy and the twins turned to Isabelle and Lily, the two women having been successful in talking out Martin’s issues in the past. Isabelle could only shrug her shoulders. Lily made a tiny motion with her hand which no one caught as a direction to turn around.

“I still prefer the original Carson and Gaile version.”

All of the students slowly looked over at Martin standing at the foot of the stairs. He was carrying an empty plate and his nearly empty cup of tea. He went into the kitchen, putting his dishes down beside the sink, and refilled the kettle with water before turning it on. Martin could hear the hushed murmuring coming from the living room but he chose to ignore it, just as he was ignoring the antics of his First Officer. He helped himself to another biscuit while he waited for the water to boil.

Isabelle cleared her throat. “Martin? Did you know that your co-worker is outside playing the piano?”

“Yes, I knew that.”

“Okay. It’s just, because you didn’t do anything, I thought you didn’t know.” Isabelle hissed something under her breath at Lucas before she cleared her throat again. “Are you going to do anything?” she asked.

“No,” Martin said firmly. “And neither are any of you. Don’t pay any attention to him _at all_. He can sit out there and play all night if he wants to, I don’t care. He’s staying out there and I’m staying in here and that’s that.”

Isabelle looked like she was going to ask him another question so Martin turned his back on the students to signal that the conversation was over. He shoved the rest of the biscuit into his mouth to combat the feeling of bile rising in his throat. Martin crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the kettle, trying to think of anything else besides self-proclaimed Sky God, Douglas Richardson. He didn’t want to be angry anymore, not that Martin had forgiven Douglas in any way, shape, or form, he just didn’t want to be angry anymore; it was exhausting to be so angry for hours and days at a time.

The music coming through the window and Douglas’ timeless inability to shut the fuck up kept Martin from finding the calm he yearned for.

The piercing whistle of the kettle broke through the murmuring in the living room and the incessant piano playing out front. Martin poured himself a fresh cup and kicked out the chair at the end of the kitchen table. He dropped himself into his seat, shoving another biscuit into his mouth to chew on so he wouldn’t grind his teeth as he waited for the tea to steep. The song came to an end again, closing on a lyric that Martin couldn’t believe Douglas had the gall to sing out loud, and Martin breathed a sigh of relief. 

Then it started again. 

Martin shut his eyes and covered his ears, trying earnestly to block out any hint of Douglas Richardson. He began to shake as his anger reached levels of intensity that frightened Martin a little bit. Someone put a hand on his shoulder and Martin lashed out. His hand grabbed and twisted in whatever they were wearing. Martin heard one of the other chairs clatter over as he pulled the person down to him. He saw Tommy’s startled face when he opened his eyes but he was unable to pull back his anger before addressing his housemate.

“What?!” Martin barked.

“I think your tea’s done.” Tommy’s head bent back at an awkward angle due to Martin’s grip on his shirt. He struggled to put the bottle of milk on the table since he couldn’t actually see the table. “I got you the milk,” Tommy said hesitantly, “because I know you like milk.”

Martin forced himself to let go of Tommy and focus on his tea. He didn’t thank Tommy, even though he knew he should; Martin didn’t trust himself to open his mouth again without biting the younger man’s head off. He expected Tommy to hurry off and rejoin the others but Tommy stayed in the kitchen. He made himself a cup of tea, picked up the fallen chair, and took a seat next to Martin. Tommy offered Martin a spoon to stir milk into his tea. Martin nodded his thanks.

“Martin, do you think-”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Tommy picked up a biscuit and dipped it into his tea. Martin watched him out of the corner of his eye, grateful that Tommy understood how much he didn’t want to talk about this. The two men sat at the table, drinking tea and eating the occasional biscuit, in silence.

Or as close to silence as they could get with the only grown man in all of Fitton who, apparently, couldn’t take a hint continuing to play the piano outside of their house.

Martin closed his eyes again, breathing in the usually soothing scent of tea. He sipped his tea, trying to divert his attention to the taste and texture of the hot liquid and away from what was quickly becoming his least favorite song. Every lyric grated on his already taut nerves. Martin waited patiently for the song to reach its end, hoping that this time would be the last time. All he wanted was relief, all he’d wanted since he got back from Belize was relief. First, from his pain; then, from his anger; and now, from the insufferable singing and piano playing. As the last chords made their way into the house, Martin held his breath, waiting to see if silence would prevail.

The song started again.

Martin clenched the cup in his hands so tightly that he wouldn’t have been surprised if it shattered. Tommy put his cup down and looked over his shoulder at the living room, where voices were rising over a whisper in order to drown out very faint singing.

“Lucas,” Logan hissed. “Shut up.”

“What? It’s catchy.”

“I don’t care if it’s catchy, you prat. Shut up.”

“Yes, Lucas, please shut up,” Isabelle snipped. “Your singing isn’t going to help... whatever’s going on here.”

“You think this is _helping_? Well, of course you do, you’re a girl.”

“Being a _woman_ has nothing to do with whether or not I think this is helping, which I happen to think it is. It’s obviously a gesture of... something and something like this takes a level of care and devotion that you just don’t understand. It’s sweet.”

“I think you mean ‘psychotic.’”

“No, Lucas, it’s sweet. It’s so sweet that it’s bordering on romantic.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Isabelle. You really think this public disturbance of affection is sweet?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Lils, back me up here, please? You don’t think this is sweet, do you?”

“I... I do.”

“Lils,” Lucas groaned.

“But it is,” Lily protested. “We don’t know how far he pushed that piano; even if it was just from the next street over, that’s a lot of work. How often do you see someone do something like that for someone else? I’ve never seen anything like that before. I think it’s sweet and very special.”

“Bloody hell!” Martin shouted, startling everyone in the house. He shot up out of his seat, knocking over both his chair and his cup in the process. The students cringed involuntarily as Martin stalked past them to the front door. “I am putting a stop to this _right now_ ,” he snarled.

Martin threw open the front door and marched out onto the porch. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Douglas sitting at that bloody piano, still playing and singing that bloody song. He left the porch barefooted and walked straight up to Douglas and the piano. Douglas smiled at him and it took every last bit of Martin’s self-control to keep from punching Douglas in the face.

“Ah, Martin,” Douglas said, speaking over the instrumental portion of the song. “How lovely to see you on this fine evening. Did you have any-”

“Shut up!” Martin shouted. 

Douglas barely got his hands out before Martin slammed the keyboard cover closed. He grabbed Douglas by his shirt with the same force he’d inadvertently used on Tommy. The taller man came willingly as Martin dragged him off the bench and pushed him up against the piano. Martin practically seethed with anger. His hand twisted in Douglas’ shirt as he pulled his First Officer down to his level so they saw eye to eye.

“For once, in your overblown existence, you’re going to listen to me.” Martin took a moment to savor the genuine respect he saw in Douglas’ eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came to apologize,” Douglas answered. “You’ve been avoiding me and you haven’t taken my calls.”

“Well, you know exactly why the hell that is, don’t you?”

Douglas actually dropped his eyes when he nodded. Martin yanked at his shirt, bringing Douglas’ attention and his gaze back to Martin.

“Not taking your calls isn’t an invitation to show up at my house; it means I don’t want to talk to you. I already heard your apology,” Martin scoffed. “I heard it in Belize, I heard it on the transatlantic flight back from Belize, and I heard it repeatedly once we got back to Fitton. Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t want your apology? Maybe I don’t want to forgive you.”

“That would make our upcoming trip to Saipan a trifle awkward,” Douglas pointed out.

“Maybe I don’t want to go to Saipan. Maybe I don’t want to work at MJN any more.”

“Martin, don’t be rash,” said Douglas, his humility slowly giving way to his usual air of superiority. “We can work this out, we can fix this. There’s no need for you to quit.”

“Why do you care whether or not I quit?” Martin asked. “Are you worried that you’ll get stuck taking orders from someone even worse than me?”

“No, Martin, that’s not it at all,” Douglas assured him. “There’s no one out there worse than you.”

Any time before Belize, Martin would’ve written off Douglas’ little jab as just a passing quip. However, since Belize, words like that from Douglas only goaded Martin into a hotter fury than he was already experiencing.

“Why are you doing this?” Martin shouted. “Why do you keep apologizing? Why do you want me to forgive you?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Douglas asked, canting his head towards the piano. “It was all in the song. I sang it three times. Did you want to hear it again?”

“No,” Martin groaned. “I want an answer, a _real_ answer.” He released his hold on Douglas’ shirt and brought his hands up to rub his temples. Martin’s anger was on the verge of shifting into something less powerful and he refused to give up this rare moment of control. “I don’t want the ‘Douglas Richardson, Sky God’ answer,” Martin argued, shaking his hands in Douglas’ face. “If you really mean it, if you really want me to forgive you, then I want a normal answer. I want the ‘Douglas Richardson, human being’ answer.”

Douglas contemplated Martin’s demand for a moment. He took in a deep breath; once he was done breathing out, Douglas seemed smaller. He was still taller than Martin, of course, but he seemed to have breathed out all of his wit, sass, and naturally gifted charisma, giving the illusion that he’d lost a few inches. He looked as close to ‘Douglas Richardson, human being’ as Martin could ever remember seeing him.

Douglas gathered Martin’s hands in his own.

“Martin, I’m sorry,” Douglas apologized. “I’m sorry,” he repeated for emphasis. “I was wrong.” He hesitated, then lifted a hand to brush the back of his fingers over Martin’s cheek. “I love you.”

“That’s incredibly difficult for you to say, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know which statement you’re referring to but, yes, yes it is... especially the last one,” Douglas conceded. “That difficulty doesn’t make them any less true. I mean each and every one of them sincerely. Especially the last one.”

Martin raised his hands to Douglas’ shirt again, this time pulling the other man down to meet him in a kiss. It was light and tentative, like the first sip of a cup of tea; it was a test to see if it was safe to proceed.

Martin pulled back and held Douglas’ face in his hands. His anger shifted, shrinking and fading as he tried to discern the true motives behind Douglas’ words. The words of a man who, at any given moment, never had fewer than seven ulterior motives were always difficult to trust. It was what he didn’t say--the looks, the touches, the stolen kisses--that let Martin in on what Douglas was really thinking. Martin saw the sincerity Douglas spoke of in his eyes, something so rare that Martin had difficulty recognizing it for what it was, and he had no doubt that Douglas meant what he said.

It wasn’t a magic fix, it didn’t erase what had happened in Belize, but it was a start. It was the answer Martin wanted.

Martin pressed forward, bringing their lips back together, using the touch as a signal that he’d forgiven Douglas. Douglas opened his mouth, perhaps to speak or question, but Martin took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, to confirm that this was his decision and he knew what he was doing. Douglas was hesitant to respond and when he did, he was gentle in everything from the play of his tongue to the hand that found its way into Martin’s hair. Every touch, every movement was a repetition of the things Douglas said earlier. They were all true, each and every one of them; Martin could feel it.

As Douglas’ arms closed around Martin, bringing his Captain further into his embrace, Martin could hear him humming a very familiar tune. Although Douglas’ mouth was preoccupied with other activities, Martin heard the last line echo in his mind in Douglas’ smooth, deep baritone.

_I love you_


End file.
